


Her Number

by afteriwake



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Codenames, Episode Fix-It: s04e03 The Final Problem, F/M, Holmes Brothers, Minor Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, Missing Scene, Mycroft Has a Goldfish, Mycroft Holmes Has Feelings, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Mycroft Holmes, Phone Calls & Telephones, Phone numbers, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-05-25 05:52:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14970470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: Mycroft finds himself reluctant to call Lady Smallwood, but conversely unable to throw her mobile number away, and is content to leave the situation as is until his brother decides to meddle.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chitarra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chitarra/gifts).



> So **Chitarra** gave me a rather detailed prompt for a Holmes brothers fic involving the potential ship of Mycroft Holmes/Lady Smallwood, and I answered with the first part nearly a month ago and forgot to post it here. ::sheepish look::

The number was still sitting on his desk weeks later, waiting. Waiting to be dialed, Mycroft supposed, but truly, what was the point? Any sort of dalliance with Lady Smallwood would be prone to ending in disaster. He knew himself well enough that having goldfish…

No, she was beyond that. She was smart as a whip and clever, and sincere, and damn it all, almost as smart as he was.

In no earthly connotation could she ever be called a “goldfish.”

But there was no point in promoting her to a dalliance or beyond. It would be categorically disastrous, mark his words. Though...sometimes he did wonder, especially at seeing the positive changes in his baby brother and his ever-expanding circle of acquaintances.

Particularly when it concerned a certain specialist registrar at Barts.

No, if he wanted to switch his mind from himself, for the time being, that was quite the situation to ponder. How Sherlock had softened under Dr. Molly Hooper’s ministrations, despite the fact their mutual confessions of love had been wrenched forth from them in such a horrible way. How they seemed to be attached at the hip now, quite possibly in the literal sense, though his brother’s proclivities of a sexual nature were _not_ something he was inclined to ponder on long and hard.

How he seemed...happy. Reminiscent of how he was as a child before his young life had gone to Hell.

It was a spectacular event indeed. It almost left him wishing he could soften that way.

Almost.

But that was never meant to be, now was it?

Still, he would not move the number written for him, nor would he toss it in the rubbish bin, and he couldn’t quite articulate why. But for now, it remained a constant on his desk, destined to remain in plain view of his eyes forevermore.

Or so he thought.


	2. Chapter 2

He had not been prepared for this particular visit from his brother, but he supposed he should have been. Sherlock had been closer not just to Dr. Hooper but to everyone in his circle, including his family. _All_ of his family, much to his surprise, and he wasn’t thinking about their sister. He himself had been the subject of Sherlock’s attempts to become closer, and while he wanted to pout and be sullen and push Sherlock away, he realized something: hadn’t he been doing that almost his entire life, since after Eurus’s actions? After their uncle pressed what was to be his life’s duty into his hands and almost irrevocably changed the course of everyone in the Holmes family’s lives in the process?

So he relented and allowed Sherlock closer. But he still was not fond of unexpected visits.

And this one was no exception. He saw Sherlock standing by his desk, glancing at the various items on it, flipping through his calendar. His eyes widened as his hands swept across Lady Smallwood’s number, but Sherlock said nothing. “Not off saving the world?” Sherlock asked.

“I was just about to go off to an early lunch,” Mycroft said, biting back his irritation. “Would you care to join me?”

“Actually, you should join me. Us. Rosie is celebrating her first word. Or rather, we’re celebrating her first word.” Then he stopped and sighed. “There’s cake.”

“What was her first word?” Mycroft asked, merely out of social niceties.

“Mum,” Sherlock said quietly, looking down more at Mycroft’s desk. “It was a bit more painful than expected, but still. It means Mary isn’t far from Rosie yet.”

Mycroft softened then and went to get his umbrella out of its stand. “Lead the way, Sherlock. I’ll join you in your celebration if you will escort me back to the office when it’s over. We need to arrange another trip to Sherrinford. Eurus has indicated she may talk to you.”

“Alright,” he said with a nod, and then his fingers help up the paper Mycroft had dreaded he’d see. “Perhaps you’d like to bring a guest? Not to our sister, but to the celebration?”

Sherlock had a grin on his face now and looked remarkably younger with it on his face. Mycroft went over with his umbrella in one hand and snatched Lady Smallwood’s number out of his hands with the other. “I think she’s too busy to attend your soiree.”

“I think she’ll make time for _you_ ,” Sherlock said, his tone a bit more teasing than before. “You can’t be completely oblivious to how she looks at you.”

“Speaking from observing you, you spent seven years with Dr. Hooper’s charms being lost on you,” Mycroft said, the paper crumpling slightly in his fist.

“How much more you need to learn about me,” Sherlock said, practically humming with delight. “I knew she cared. I started to have _feelings_ a few years ago but I stomped them down with cases and drugs and everything else because I thought Molly deserved better.” He reached for the number and snatched it back, but not without tearing it. “You’re not a bad person, Mycroft. You need a goldfish of your own to settle you, and Lady Smallwood is not a bad choice.”

“She is not a goldfish,” Mycroft said through tight lips. He reached for her number back but Sherlock merely danced away around him, smoothing the paper out slightly as he moved. “Sherlock, give it back.”

“If you won’t call, maybe I will. I haven’t annoyed her too much recently, I don’t think.” He pulled his mobile out of his pocket and only then was Mycroft able to snatch the bit of paper back. Sherlock paused, then held out his mobile towards his brother. “Fine then. If I can’t call her on your behalf, you call her. I dare you.”

“You’re a bastard, you know that?”

“No, I know very well who my father is. We have the same one.” Sherlock moved the phone closer. “Call. Her. You know you want to. Her code name is ‘Love,’ for pity’s sake. Call her and get it over with.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes and then took his brother’s mobile and looked at the paper, not really needing to because he had memorized her number since it had sat on his desk for such a long time, it seemed, before dialing it. He put the mobile towards his ear and waited.

“Why are you calling me, Sherlock?” she asked.

“It’s...not Sherlock,” Mycroft said, suddenly worried. “He’s loaning me his mobile.”

“Ah,” she said, a sudden warmth filling her voice. “It’s a pleasure to hear from you, Mycroft. I thought I would have to wait for you to call until Hell froze over.”

“I’d considered it many times, I just didn’t think you’d want to hear from me,” he said quietly.

“If I didn’t want to hear from you, Mycroft, I never would have given you this number.”

“I suppose that’s true, Lady Smallwood.”

“Alicia, please. And I’m just glad I did not have to wait so long. Would you like to take me up on my offer of a drink?”

“Yes, actually.”

“I know a very nice place. I can pick you up at seven tomorrow. It’s better if we arrive together, as its exclusive.”

Mycroft smiled slightly. “It’s not all that proper.”

“Then you may pick me up at seven. But still, you’ll be my honored guest tomorrow night and we can...talk.”

“I look forward to it. Take care.”

“I will. Tomorrow night, then.” There was a click on her end, and he handed the mobile back to Sherlock.

“Well?” Sherlock asked, pocketing his mobile.

“I’m afraid she won’t be joining us today,” Mycroft said. “We won’t see each other until seven tomorrow evening for drinks at an exclusive venue.”

Sherlock jumped up in the air, a wide smile on his face. “Brilliant! My brother has his first goldfish in forty-eight years.”

This time Mycroft did not hesitate to roll his eyes. “Rule one, Sherlock: never refer to her as a goldfish.”

“Then stop referring to my circle of friends as such,” Sherlock said, extending his hand. “Agreed?”

Mycroft considered it for a moment, then extended his hand as well and shook his brother’s hand. “Agreed.”

“Fantastic. I’m sure Geoff and Molly and John will have plenty of advice for you while we celebrate Rosie’s first word,” Sherlock said. “Shall we go? There may not be much cake left if Rosie gets her hands on it first, or else it will be a rather messy cake.” 

Mycroft nodded, a small smile on his face while a feeling of warmth settled in the pit of his stomach. It was rather nice to have something to look forward to other than a family obligation or an impending national disaster. “Let’s be off,” he said, knowing that for at least a time tomorrow, he could, potentially, be quite happy indeed.


End file.
